Luna's death, and other stories
by Bagge
Summary: There is a boy that follows Luna wherever she goes... Crossover Rowling & Pullman.
1. Luna's death

**Luna's death**

_There is a boy that follows Luna wherever she goes... Crossover between Rowling's Harry Potter and __Pullman's His Dark Materials (and those are the rightfully owners of the characters in this story)._

There is a boy that follows Luna wherever she goes. He does so unobtrusively, almost shyly, not wanting to be of any bother. Sometimes he walks very close to Luna, smiling at her. At other times he is far away and can hardly be seen at all as he is lost among all the colours that is the world. But he is always there, as he has always been and always will be.

Once he was very young, nothing more than a little child with a round face and big, surprised eyes. Now he is older, and even if the eyes are still big and surprised there is also a new wisdom in them. In fact, he looks quite a bit like Luna herself. But there is something strange with this boy. Even if Luna is full of colours, there seem to be none left for him. He doesn't mind, though.

Luna is glad for the company of the boy that follows her. Sometimes when she is sad and there is none to comfort her, the boy will walk close to her and smile, promising that everything will be for the best. Sometimes when Luna is lonely the boy will be close as well. Luna will talk to him, or show him a particularly interesting article in the Quibbler, or just sit and think in his company. The boy never says anything, but Luna can talk for both of them. She enjoys the company of her silent friend. He is kind and gentle and nice, and Luna tries to be nice in return. Strangely, the boy never seems to be sad or lonely. When Luna asks him about it and inquires what the boy himself would like to do, he only shrugs and smiles shyly.

But sometimes Luna forgets about him, especially now when she has real friends of colour that want her to spend time with them. Then the boy can be lost for long times before Luna remembers about him and goes looking for him. He is always close by, standing just out of sight, and he always comes when Luna asks him to. When that happens Luna apologizes, but the boy just smiles and shrugs and doesn't seem to mind. Luna feels bad about it though. No one should be forgotten and left without company. She has even invited the boy to come and play with her other friends, but the boy kindly refuses. He is Luna's friend, after all, so what would be the point in the company of others?

They have always been together. They always will be.

The boy is Luna's death. When Luna dies the boy will step forward and guide her to the land without any colours, the land of the dead. Luna knows this and she is thankful for having a friend with her on that last, scary journey, someone she knows and trust. She remembers that sad day when she was nine years old and her mother walked away from her with her death. Luna knows that when she dies her own death will take her to her mother. She will be waiting at the place where she was brought, and she will hug her and sing for her and laugh in the way only she can, just as she always used to do. Sometimes Luna can't wait for it to happen.


	2. Voldemort's death

_Thanks to Possum132, who talked me into expand this, and also kindly helped me with the grammar, I have decided to write a few more chapters of this story, exploring a few selected Harry Potter-characters' relationships to their Pullmanian deaths. Enjoy!_

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**Voldemort's death**

There is a woman that follows Tom wherever he goes. He knows she is there, that however fast he runs, whatever tricks he tries to evade her, she will always be close, standing just out of sight. At night, when he tries to sleep, he can almost hear her, feel her, leaning over him in his bed, choking him with her presence and the simple, terrible fact that she is there, so very close to him. When that happens he leaps up from his bed, panic in his eyes, and his spells light up every corner of the room, dispel every dark shadow, and he can see that he is alone. He shivers and strengthens the wards and charms that protect him, thinks over the web of lies and intrigues that guards him. But she is still there and he cries alone at night in utter despair, because no matter what he does, no matter how great his strength and his cunning and the control he has over his followers, he will never, ever get rid of the woman that follows him.

He has done everything, he has ventured further down those dark, terrible paths that lead towards immortality than any wizard has ever dared, done unspeakable things and made sacrifices more dear than most would ever endure. But still he cries, because she is still there. He tore his own soul apart, a gruesome deed, thinking foolishly that it might give him some respite, that it might at last stop the woman from following him. But it did not. Again and again he spliced his soul until precious little remained. He had thought it a path towards immortality, towards finally being free from the terrible, shadowy lady who follows him. But how he was mistaken. For every new Horcrux, for every time he splinched his soul, the closer did the lady that followed him come, until she was practically standing by his side, her grey face, a mocking image of his own, next to his in the mirror.

Once she almost had him, that terrible day when his Killing Curse turned on himself and her cold fingers grasped his heart. He managed to flee that day, flee to a distant land, less then a ghost, less then a memory, naked and terrified. But still she followed him, never for a moment losing him from her sight, so he cries, alone at night, in utter dread.

The woman that follows him is Tom Riddle's death. She is sad that he tries to flee her, sad that he wastes his life in fear and fruitless avoidance of that which can never be avoided. She tries to make herself unobtrusive, not to scare him or bother him, but the man she follows is so very afraid of her that he never can restrain himself from looking for her. She tries to talk to him, sometimes, tries to comfort him, but he has never listened. So he runs, and she follows, because she can't do otherwise. Silently and unobtrusively she follows, but unavoidably. She has never left him. She never will.


	3. Myrtle's death

**Myrtle's death**

There was a boy that followed Myrtle wherever she went, but that was a long time ago now. She doesn't remember him well, because there are so many things that distract a young girl in a world filled by marvels, and the boy was hard to spot, lost as he was among all the colours of the world. She remembers that he was nice, however, and that she was a little afraid of him. Why, she can't remember anymore.

Even if she doesn't remember him well, she remembers that he was always there for her, and now when she knows so much better then most other people what being lonely truly means, she misses him and his silent, unobtrusive company. Myrtle doesn't have much colour herself anymore. Isn't that unfair? That she who had so many colours once upon a time should lose them so suddenly, and that he never had any at all? He could have got some of hers, if he had wanted, and then maybe he would have stayed with her.

But he didn't stay. Myrtle remembers that sad day when she died, and he stepped forward. He had wanted her to follow him to the land without any colours, to the land of the dead. But she had been scared and angry and she had refused. She had wanted to make those who she blamed for her death regret their deeds, and she had wanted to see more of the world of colours than her brief life had permitted. He had been persistent, but so had she, and in the end, with a last, sad glance at her, he had turned from her and walked away.

Myrtle often thinks of that boy, wonders where he is now and what he is doing without her. She wonders if he thinks about her. Sometimes she wishes that she had followed him.


	4. Albus' death

**Albus' Death**

There was a woman that followed Albus wherever he went. She was old, just as old as him, and her eyes twinkled. They had been together for a long time, the two of them. Always together, whatever fate had put it their way. They used to smile and laugh and make jokes together, and sometimes when he was troubled he would talk to her with a sad voice, and she would listen to him and smile a concerned smile. He appreciated her company, was glad that she would listen to him and be there for him. And she was glad in return, that he would let her talk to him and that he enjoyed her company.

When Albus travelled the world the woman used to walk next to him, following him to whatever distant land he ventured. He would point out especially interesting sights for her, and she would comment on them in her silent, whispering voice, so low that no one but him could hear her. They both were astonished at what they saw - the world is such a marvellous place, after all. They never grew tired of each other's company, no matter all the long years they spent together - how could they have been?

There were also troubled times, however, and they would see their friends walk away from them, never to come back. Albus knew that some of his friends had gone because of decisions he had made, or decisions he had failed to make, and it grieved him. Sometimes, when he was tired and sad and the choices he made only seemed to demand more and more sacrifices of him and those he loved, then he would talk to the woman that followed him and inquire if it wasn't his turn to go soon, if he couldn't be allowed to leave his many responsibilities after all the years he had held them. He had lived a long and interesting life, he would say, but it was tiring him, and wasn't it time for him soon to venture on to that next, exciting adventure? But she would only sadly shake her head and say that, no, it wasn't time just yet. Then she would take his hand and talk to him in her soft, whispering voice and remind him of all those astonishing things in the world of colour, all those little miracles each day was brimming with. And he would listen and remember and agree, and his eyes would twinkle yet again, just as her eyes did, and then he would carry on with his duties, because it wasn't his time to leave them just yet. They were always together, Albus and the woman that followed him. All the time until the end.

The woman that followed Albus was his death. She took a step forward that fateful night in the astronomy tower, the night when Albus died, and she took his hand. Together they walked away from the land of colours, travelled together just as they had done so often before, talking to each other with soft, whispering voices, pointing out particularly interesting sights for each other with twinkling eyes. But this time it was the woman who led the way, and Albus who followed. They are both gone now, Albus and the woman who followed him, gone on their last, exciting adventure, and neither will ever come back.


	5. The Flamells' deaths

**The Flamells' deaths**

There is a woman and a man who follow Nicholas and Nell wherever they go. They follow them unobtrusively, not causing any concern. They have done so for more than six hundred years now.

Once, Nicholas and Nell went out in the world, just like so many others, eager and full of life. They ate and drank, fought and loved, they marvelled over all the colours that are given to those who live. They enjoyed victories and friendships, and they suffered defeats and betrayals - such is life structured after all. Eventually the time came for them to die.

The woman and the man who follow Nicholas and Nell are their deaths. They have followed them all the time, sharing their life and their experiences - and those are plenty. They remember the day when they both stepped forward; the day when they were to fulfil their function and take their charges with them to the land without any colour, the land of the dead. Nicholas and Nell had refused to go. They had said that they were not willing, that there were so many things left for them to see and do and experience in the land of the living. Let others go to the land without any colour, they had said. Let others stumble into the darkness and disappear. They wanted no part of it, and they told their deaths so much. Their deaths had been persistent, but so had they, and in the end, the two deaths had had to step back into the shadows again; hiding as they were used to just out of sight, their business not yet conducted.

The Flamells had been polite though. They had asked their deaths kindly to linger, in case they should change their minds. They had inquired if there were some action they might take to ease their discomfort. They always treated them with respect. They didn't allow the deaths to follow them too closely, however, and they were not let into the house. The Flamells did not, for some reason, feel very comfortable with their deaths too close.

But they did allow them in, one day each year. The day they should have died. Then, Nicholas and Nell cleaned their house and put on their best clothes. They prepared a delicious dinner and chose the most exquisite wine from their cellar. Then they opened the door, and their deaths entered. They sat by the table, holding the plates and the glasses, talking to the Flamells with their hoarse, whispering voices about the year that had passed, and about earlier years, and they all marvelled how time flew, and rejoiced in old memories. And the deaths would inquire, perhaps, if it wasn't time yet? If, perhaps, their charges hadn't changed their minds and decided to follow them on their last path to the land without any colours, to the land of the dead? But the Flamells had always refused. Politely but firmly. And when the evening turned to night, the deaths were asked to leave the house again.

So they followed their charges, through the centuries, respectfully following three paces behind them, respectfully staying by the door. They waited, patiently, as was their habit and their nature. So Nicholas and Nell went through the centuries, untouched by their deaths, and if some flavours of life lost their colours with time, others gained them, such is the nature of things. There is so much to see in the land of colours, after all. Six hundred years is hardly time even to get started.

Their deaths were sad, because they had failed in their duty. They did like their charges, they did wish them all the enjoyment they can get in the world of colours. But sometimes they longed terribly for stillness and the peace, and the fulfilment of their function. They feared that their charges would never wish to leave the world they are so fond of.

But today, something is amiss. The door to the house is open, and Nicholas and Nell stand in the doorway, in their finest clothes, and respectfully ask them to enter. They do so, hesitantly - because today is not the day their presence is usually asked for - and the house is cleaned and the table is laid, and a dinner of hitherto unseen splendour is prepared. The deaths sit down, shyly and uncertainly, and Nicholas and Nell start to talk to them. They talk about a long life, well spent. They talk about dangers that have arisen, about reconsiderations they have made, and about the next, exciting adventure, and they thank their faithful deaths for having followed them for all these long years. They ask them if they would like to fulfil their function, at last.

Their deaths can hardly believe what they are hearing, that the time has come, after all these years. But they stand up from the table, eagerly, and they take their charges' hands. Together they leave, Nicholas and the woman, Nell and the man, and together they walk out of the house, not behind each other, but side by side.


	6. Severus' death

**Severus' death**

There is a woman that follows Severus wherever he goes. So he is told, by one of the greatest authorities on Death there is. But he isn't so sure of that himself. He can't really imagine a woman who would waste her time following him around. There are so many better things a woman could do, after all.

No, Severus is not followed by anyone, except for those he has killed, and they don't count. They are already dead, so why should they mess about with the affairs of the living? But they do. Late at night, as he lies in his bed in the darkness of the dungeon, he sees their faces float by one by one. Sometimes they scream, sometimes not. Sometimes they glare accusingly at him, at other time they seem quite content. Severus has learned to ignore them, as he ignores so many other things. But he never tries to get rid of them, with a Pensieve, with Occlumency, or with those certain potions that could aid him in clearing his mind from these sins of the past. Somehow, he feels that he owes these memories the right to haunt his dreams and deprive him of sleep. After all, he has deprived them of far more than that. He wonders, sometimes, if they also had their own women and men following them, as he has been told they did. He imagines all those deadly messengers waiting in the background. That they silently watched him as he raised his wand against those who were soon to be his victims, that they took a step forward as the dead bodies slumped to the ground. He imagine that they took the hands of those he killed, and gently told them that it was time for them to move on, to leave for the world that follows after this one. He wonders, sometimes, if they ever looked back at him as they went.

But he is wrong, of course, about this as about so many other things, because there is indeed a woman that follows him. One that counts. Sometimes it is her face he sees, and when that happens, he takes the potions.

He remembers that terrible night when Lily Evans died, when his treachery to the woman he loved was paid for in blood and life. He remembers how he, distraught with grief, all alone in the dungeon and in the world, had pointed his wand to his forehead. It would have been so easy, just to unleash his power one last time as he had done so often before, and all the pain would be gone for good. But it had not happened. He had seen something that day that had made him hesitate. There had been a woman standing before him, asking him without words if this really was what he wanted, if this was the choice he had made. He had seen her for just a moment, only for the time it takes for an eye to blink, and then she was gone. In her place Albus had stood, asking him the same thing, and his wand had fallen to the floor, his powers never unleashed.

At the time he had believed that the woman that had stood before him had been the woman he had killed, or the memory thereof, but he isn't so sure of that anymore. She did not look like Lily, for one thing. In fact, she more resembled himself, with the somewhat striking difference that while he is ugly and revolting, the woman he saw had actually been quite pretty. He thinks of that woman sometimes, wonders if she really had been the woman his master has told him about, the enemy beyond all enemies. He suppose he should fight her with the same ruthlessness as his master does, but he can't bring himself to hate her in the same way as he hates almost anything else in the world. He remembers the expression in her face that day, how she had looked at him not with hate or disgust or fear or loathing, as so many others do and as he does himself. She had looked at him with concern, and something that almost resembled care, as if she really pitied him and felt for him. As if anyone would.

He still doesn't know the answer to her question, but he supposes that he will find out soon enough.

He can hear the sound of running feet in the corridor, steadily drawing closer.

The woman that follows Severus is his death. In the depth of his heart he knows it, and he knows that she will be there for him when he needs her - that she will be there to take him away from all the pain that he is inflicting on himself, when his time is finally due. He is thankful for it, and he is scared witless by it. Sometimes, he is even annoyed about it. Why should his death be anyone's business but his own? What is it to her? She smiles pityingly, as she watches him from her hiding place, just out of sight. She wishes she could get him to know her and to trust her, because she knows how much he longs to see her clearly and to understand what she really is. She has talked to him sometimes, but he rarely listens. He hides instead, in his hatred and in his grief and in his memories, and nothing she says can make him realize the fact that he still belongs to the world of colour, that he isn't dead yet and that all the pity and love and forgiveness he so desperately longs for is there for him, should he ever open himself up for it. She can only hope that he will realize it before it is time for him to leave.

A hope that is drawing fainter, as the time for her to perform her last duty is drawing closer. The running steps are louder now.

Severus sits by his desk in the dungeons, his wand lying on the bare wooden surface, close to his unmoving hand. All his papers are in order, his business conducted, his office ready to be taken over by whoever will fill his place after he is gone. He looks around the empty room, examining the windowless walls, the cleaned out shelves and the closed door with narrow eyes. Even if he had not expected anything else, he is actually somewhat disappointed. Now, of all times, he had hoped that he would have seen her, that he would have had time to exchange a few words with the woman who follows him, when he still has time for it.

"Are you coming?" he mutters, for his own ears as much as for her. But there is no answer from either of them.

He sighs and stands up, with his wand in his hand. And actually, as the door opens and the frantic Flitwick enters, he can see her quite clearly, standing next to him, smiling at him, friendly, slightly pitying. He bows at her, and as they leave, he holds open the door for her. Together they run through the corridors of Hogwarts, Severus and his death, towards the astronomy tower, both with their own duty to fulfil. They have no one in the world now, no one but the other. But still, somehow, Severus is not as lonely as he used to think he was.

The woman that follows him has no colours, and that surprises him. Severus has always imagined that his death would have red hair.


	7. Cedric's death

**Cedric's death**

There is a girl that follows Cedric wherever he goes. She has done so for a long time now, but he has never noticed. Who does - in a world so filled by colours and marvels? Who cares, when he is still a young man, so filled by life and with a future stretching out to eternity, about that distant end? There are so many wonders to experience in the world of the living, after all.

But she follows him, silent, colourless and unobtrusive. She watches him as he socializes with his friends, as he sleeps, as he walks, sometimes, alone at night through the dark corridors of Hogwarts and thinks of all the things that lean heavily on the mind of youth. She is, in her silent way, proud of what a fine young man he has become. She feels sad for him, though, that he won't be able to stay longer in the world that is his home.

And it all happens so fast. The adrenaline, the fear, the triumphs - the thrill of the third task, and then the hand on the portkey, the moment of terror and the green flash of death - and she steps forward. Because now it is time for Cedric to leave the world of colours, his friends, his family and the lovely girl whose good luck kiss still burns on his lips. It is time for him to leave his future, his hopes and his fears and go on to the land without any colours, the land of the dead. And she is there for him, to help him on that last, sad journey.

But Cedric is scared and angry and lost, and he steps back from her. It isn't fair, he says. He doesn't want to go, he says. Could she please keep away from him, he says. The girl looks at him with sad, colourless eyes and whispers to him with her hoarse voice. Tries to talk calmly to him, tries to ease the terror and the pain, tries to force away her own fear. Because if he refuses to follow - what will she do then? Where will her place be then? And perhaps something of this shows in her face, because the boy hesitates, and looks at her as if he sees her, not as if he fears her.

He asks her, with trembling voice, what will happen to him. She doesn't know, but she smiles, and her smile tells him that perhaps things won't be that bad, after all. After all - finding your place to be is always an adventure, and at least, he won't have to face it alone. Neither will she.

The girl that is Cedric's death holds out her hand, invitingly, and he smiles at her. He takes the hand, and together they leave, boy and girl, Cedric and his death. Who knows, perhaps they did find what they were looking for, in the end.


End file.
